


A Very Zombie Christmas

by Anonymous



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Christmas Crack, Crack Relationships, Fluff and Angst, I've lost my mind at this point, M/M, Remix, Zombie Apocalypse, some gore in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-09 03:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Nothing is how it’s supposed to be. Christmas is a time for family, for love, light, and celebration. Here there is only darkness and misery.





	1. Cuddles by the Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [El Fin Está Aquí](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8772409) by Anonymous. 



> So I chose to write the most anti-Christmas fic for the [football winter challenge](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/footballwinterchallenge2017/profile). This is a remix of [El Fin Está Aquí](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8772409/chapters/20108770), mainly as a thank you to everyone who's supported the story this year. Contains slight spoilers for the main work, so please stop reading after this sentence if you don't want to be spoiled.
> 
>  
> 
> Imagine they'd never left the cabin. Sergio is melancholy about celebrating his first Christmas since the outbreak of the virus, and Gerard is acting strangely.
> 
> Chapter 2 will contain some zombie slaying violence, but I may have rated this story more highly than I needed to.
> 
> Updates will be posted on the 8th and 15th December respectively.

Sergio wakes to the sound of birdsong, and the gentle rustling of the trees that inhabit the deepest parts of the wood. He has been gently lulled into consciousness like this every morning since he arrived at the cabin. Mere miles away, the world has fallen apart. Humanity has all but died out, and only the undead roam the streets. Yet here in the middle of nowhere, he finds solace in the tranquillity of it all.

He turns to face Gerard, and discovers nothing but an empty space in the bed next to him. Sergio frowns in disappointment, whilst his fingers trace the dent where Gerard’s body should be. His side of the bed is cold, yet his smell still lingers on the bed sheets and the pillow. Sergio breathes in the scent, mourning his presence, and wonders when it became so essential for him to wake up next to Gerard Piqué.

Disasters can do strange things to people.

No doubt Gerard got up early to cook breakfast for the group, or to run some sort of errand for someone else. _Again_. He knows it winds Sergio up when he panders to other people’s whims.

He breathes deep, calming breaths, and gets up to open the window. The clean scent of pine trees from the forest fills the room. Nature soothes him, making him think logically once again.

Maybe it isn’t the end of the world if Sergio has some time to himself. He reaches under the bed, and retrieves a leather-bound journal. He isn’t sure why he has it in his possession. He took it, along with several pens and pencils, the very first time the group went out on a supply run. At the time, he stashed the loot in his backpack without so much as a thought. He felt compelled to grab _everything_.

He refuses to call it a secret diary, yet he still doesn’t like the idea of anyone else reading it. Writing in it is a practicality, he tells himself. His watch battery isn’t going to last forever – so he uses the journal to keep track of the date. Sometimes he adds extra details, like the weather, or things he’s seen and heard in the woods.

He sifts through the crisp white pages, running his fingers along the smooth, untouched paper. He starts to write.

_Day #92, December 22, 2016._

_Three days away from my first Christmas here. Doesn’t feel much like any Christmas I’ve ever known._

As he slides the diary back into place, his hands land upon another item he stashed away for himself. A bottle of red wine. His plan was to give this Gerard on Christmas Eve, and for them to drink it as a special treat.

Perhaps it’s a silly idea. Perhaps he should just drink it himself.

When he finally gets to the kitchen, Gerard isn’t there. The others are gathered around the table, seemingly unable to get breakfast for themselves. Seemingly unable to do _anything_ for themselves. Sergio bites his lower lip.

“Where’s Gerard?”

A shrug from Gareth. Neymar and Leo both stare at the floor, and Sergio knows that although both are physically present, they might as well be absent. They’re both lost, too wrapped up in their longing for a world which doesn’t exist anymore. Which will never exist again.

“Wherever he is, I wish he’d get a move on.” Cristiano purses his lips together. “I’m starving.”

Sergio breathes out noisily through his lips, and shakes his head. What a bunch of self-entitled cry-babies. Don’t they realise how lucky they are to be alive? He storms outside, the chill in the air making his nose turn red.

Gerard won’t have gone far. Everything is fenced off now, because it’s better that way. Safer. Survival is the group’s absolute top priority. Sergio isn’t prepared to go through an ordeal like this just to lose people. Not when they’ve made it this far.

The grass outside is overgrown, interspersed with weeds and dead flower heads. A makeshift footpath has been created because of months of being walked over by the cabin’s residents. Sergio makes the short trek down towards the river bank. No fire has been lit, no hot water prepared. The muscles in Sergio’s face tense. This, he must admit, is unusual.

He walks around to the front of the property, towards the bus, the vehicle that brought them to safety three long months ago. She’s seen much better days, her once shiny logos now splattered in mud, some of her paintwork chipped away altogether. Parked next to her is the red pickup truck; Sergio’s pride and joy. He’s loved it ever since he claimed it as his own. He half expects to find Gerard tinkering with one of the vehicles, but he doesn’t, and his heart starts to thrum in his chest.

“Gerard?”

What on earth is he doing?

Sergio jogs towards the fencing at the perimeter, and traces the wooden panels with his fingertips. There’s no sign of a breach. He reinforced it all with more metal just a few days ago.

“Gerard!” This time the urgency in his own voice scares him.

“I’m here.”

The sound emerges from the opposite side of the cabin. Sergio runs towards him, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

“I was beginning to wonder where you were.”

“You shouldn’t have worried.”

“But I do.”

Gerard swallows hard, keeping his hands behind his back.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” An immediate response. It sounds rehearsed.

“The others are waiting for breakfast.”

“The cereal and long-life milk are on the bus. I mentioned it last night. Didn’t anybody remember?”

“Apparently not.” Sergio is deadpan. Something about Gerard’s demeanour unsettles him. Why has he been out here by himself? It takes all Sergio’s self-composure to refrain from asking.

“Well, we ought to use the cereal and milk first, before they go stale.”

“I suppose.”

“I should get a move on.”

Gerard turns around, and starts to walk in the opposite direction. Sergio reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder.  

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Absolutely. Why wouldn't it be?”

“You just seem… distracted.”

“Some days out here are harder than others, you know how it is.”

“I get it.”

But he doesn’t. Not really. The way he sees it, Gerard and he are the lucky ones. Since they became a couple, it’s filled a void, given Sergio an extra reason for living. Hasn’t it done the same for Gerard?   

This time, when Gerard makes a move, Sergio lets him leave.

Sometimes, it’s as if he doesn’t understand how Gerard’s brain works at all. As if they’re back to the days when they simply didn’t _have_ a relationship, weren’t even on speaking terms, because tensions were so fraught between Barcelona and Real Madrid. Maybe Gerard is a mystery Sergio will never be able to solve  
  
  
* * *  
  
Very little happens throughout the course of the day. That isn’t unusual. It’s for the best, Sergio thinks, because if their days are mundane, then at least it means they’re safe. Still, being trapped in the tiny cabin with the same five men can become frustrating. Claustrophobic.

He has experienced several murderous thoughts lately, and not all of them have been directed towards the zombies.

Sergio is the first to volunteer to do any chores. It’s a bonus when doing them means he gets one-on-one time with Gerard.

As day gives way to night, the two of them carry box after box of rubbish onto the front lawn.

“Is that the last of it?” Sergio asks, as he wipes sweat from his brow. "Surely, there can’t be much more.”

“We’ve accumulated a lot during the time we've been here.” Gerard sighs. “Maybe we need to think more seriously about waste disposal.”

“I’m not sure us having all these fires is the best idea.”

“Well, what else can we do?” Gerard turns to him. “It’s our only way to heat water and to cook food. The forest probably conceals a lot of the smoke.”

“I suppose so.”

The fire is meek at first, as though it barely has the energy to come to life. Gerard pokes at it, trying to set a piece of cardboard alight.

“This won’t do.” Sergio stands, his hands on his hips. “I'll be right back.”

He returns with a can of petrol, and unceremoniously tosses its contents onto the lacklustre blaze. Orange flames cascade high into the sky, so bright they sting Sergio’s eyes. The fire doesn’t simply burn, it rages.

“Wow.” Gerard smirks at him. “You don’t mess around, do you?”

“Never.”

They both sit a safe distance away, watching as the rubbish disintegrates before their very eyes. Sergio shivers as Gerard wraps a strong arm around him, and pulls him close. They cuddle, warming one another by the fire. Sergio barely notices the smoke in his nostrils now. There is only Gerard. He’s longed for his touch all day long; he hadn’t understood how much he needed it. He leans across, and kisses him softly.

“Do you know what date it is?” Sergio asks him after a while.

He means to ask; _do you know it’s nearly Christmas?_ But Gerard’s hasty response catches him off guard.

“I stopped counting the date a while back.”

“You did? Why?”

“It doesn’t seem worth it anymore, all the days blur into one another.”

Sergio’s heart sinks. He clings on to Gerard a while longer, but he doesn’t broach the subject again.

 

* * *

  
They collapse into bed together with a flurry of kisses and excitement, as they do every night. There’s just something about being caught by the others that makes Sergio feel as wild as an animal. After their midnight exertions he is exhausted, and falls into a deep sleep.

He wakes in the dead of night to find the bed empty next to him.

The feeling has gnawed away at his stomach all day long. He came to the inevitable conclusion long ago, despite trying to bury the idea. But It is undeniable now, unquestionable.

Gerard is keeping something from him.


	2. You Can Borrow My Jacket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains zombie horror related violence.

_Day #93, December 23, 2016.  
Nobody else seems to realise tomorrow is Christmas Eve, so I’ve decided I won’t mention it. Life goes on as normal, whatever normal is supposed to be these days._

Sergio turns the pencil over in his fingers, and rereads what he just wrote. Melancholy floods over him so forcibly he could allow himself to drown in it.

Nothing is how it’s supposed to be. Christmas is a time for family, for love, light, and celebration. Here there is only darkness and misery. Any optimism Sergio felt has been sucked out of him by Gerard’s recent coldness. Instinctively, he knows it is wrong to put his happiness in the hands of another. Theirs is the very definition of an unhealthy relationship. And yet, Sergio can’t end it. He craves Gerard like a junkie craves his next fix.

He was gone again this morning. Sergio knew he wasn’t in the bed beside him even before he opened his eyes. Nothing hurts as much as being deceived, and he knows Gerard is pulling the wool over his eyes. But the question remains: why?

He hasn’t got time to think about it now, he realises, as his stomach gives a distinct, low, growl. Sergio is starving. Supplies have been low for a few days now, and the group have been forced to ration quantities of food for each meal. All they have in abundance are the mushrooms that plague the forest, and truthfully, nobody wants those anymore. Not even Gerard.

When he gets to the kitchen, the cabin door hangs ajar, a brusque wind blowing a draft inside. Sergio hears voices.

“It’s bloody bad news is what it is.”

“Well done for stating the obvious, Gareth.” Cristiano folds his arms. They’re both staring at something Sergio can’t quite make out. He moves closer to investigate.

“What is it?” He asks.

“We’ve got a flat tyre on the bus.” Gareth gestures towards the rear left wheel. It’s completely deflated, no run-of-the-mill puncture kit is going to fix that.

“We must have a spare, surely.” Sergio narrows his eyes.

“We used it already,” Cristiano says. “Apparently.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sorry, Serg. I wish we were.” Gareth lets out an audible sigh.

“So, the pickup truck is all we have.” Sergio glances towards his treasured vehicle.

“Um, this is the last of the cereal.” Sergio looks up to see Neymar cradling the box of sugary flakes close against his chest as he steps off the bus. Leo follows with the boxes of milk.

“Has anyone seen Gerard?” Sergio’s eyes roam the immediate vicinity for any kind of sign of him. He hates this – he can’t just make a decision for the good of the group, because Gerard isn’t here.

“No idea, I thought he was still in bed with you,” Leo replies, a wry grin spreading across his lips.

“Well, he wasn’t.” Sergio’s voice is full of vitriol, and he doesn’t care if he aims it at Leo. Not if he’s going to make snide remarks. “We need to find him, eat what’s left of our food for breakfast, and then head straight out for supplies so that we’re back before nightfall.”

“Great, can’t wait,” Gareth says.

“Not you.” Sergio shakes his head. “I meant Gerard and me. There’s only going to be room for two of us and the supplies in the pickup truck.”

“Whatever, I don’t care. Just find him so we can get on with the rest of our day.” Cristiano glares in Sergio’s direction.

Sergio glares back, and turns to go into the kitchen.  
  
* * *  
  
It doesn’t turn out to be an extensive search, because when Sergio gets back into the house, Gerard is there, waiting for him. He clutches at the fingers on his left hand, and winces in pain, his body almost bent double.

“Sergio, can you get me the medical kit?”

“What on earth have you done?”

“I had an accident.”

“I can see that, but how?”

“I… fell over?” 

“On your hand?”

It takes too much effort for Sergio to compose himself. _I fell over_. Does Gerard think he was born yesterday? It’s one thing to be lied to, it’s quite another to be made a fool of. He’s sick and tired of this game. Sick of Gerard’s dubious antics getting under his skin.

“Ouch!”

Sergio uses an alcohol wipe to clean the cut, but he’s not nearly as gentle as he could be.

“There you go,” he says, wrapping a plaster around Gerard’s finger. “I can’t do much about the swelling or the bruises though. Did you trap yourself?”

Gerard shrugs. “I'll be fine.”

“That's good, because we need to go out for supplies.”

This time, Gerard’s face visibly drops.

* * *  
  
Only the roar of the engine fills his ears as they travel along ghostly roads, shadowed by trees so dark they’re almost black against the sunless sky.

Sergio is grateful for the distraction of driving, and briefly allows himself to fantasise about Gerard and him being on the run, escaping from the rest of the world. He absentmindedly fiddles with the radio, turning one dial after the other, but there is only static.

“You’re not looking for the flamenco channel, are you?”

“If I found one, I’d make you listen to it 24 hours a day.”  
  
A hearty, deep laugh falls from Gerard’s mouth. Sergio thinks it’s almost as sweet as music would be to his ears.

“Do you really think we’re going to find everything we need out here?” Sergio asks.

“I don’t see why not. There’s a garage with a convenience store about half a kilometre down this road, if we’re lucky, we’ll have hit the jackpot.”

“That’s if no one else has got there first.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be optimistic.”

Sergio turns his head, allowing himself a glance at Gerard. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”  
  
* * *  
  
It turns out to be a far bigger place than Sergio had expected. There’s a work yard scattered with cars and vans, and a small store to the right of it. It’s impossible to make out what it’s like inside, in the absence of electricity, everything is plunged into darkness. But there are no signs the place has already been raided; no shattered glass, no blood stains on the floor. It’s almost too good to be true.

“Stay close to me,” Gerard says, as though his thoughts are mirroring Sergio’s.

If something seems too good to be true, it almost always is.

“Right behind you.”

There is the cold steel of the gun as he clutches it in the palm of his hand, the knife, sheathed but ready to go in his pocket. Sergio is becoming adept at this. 

He shadows Gerard, barely leaving space between them. His eyes span to the left, to the right, in front of them and behind them. Trouble, after all, can approach from any direction.

“Over here.”

Gerard creeps towards the workshop, taking quiet but deliberate steps.

Ahead, there is a tyre yard. Sergio and Gerard exchange glances.

“Boom!” A cocky smile from Gerard.

“Just like you said.”

“I’m always right.”

“Be careful,” Sergio says. “I’ve got the gun, remember?”

Gerard laughs sardonically. It sends a shiver of excitement through Sergio’s body, like static electricity.

“These ones.” Sergio gestures towards a pile of tyres a little way in front of them.

“You sure they’re the right kind?”

“Yep.”

Gerard runs a hand over the rubber, and examines it carefully. “Let’s take two or three, in case anyone else finds our stash.”

Sergio nods.

It’s a time-consuming affair. They have to make each journey back and forth from the tyres to the pickup truck separately, Gerard carrying while Sergio acts as his bodyguard.

“I’m fucking exhausted.” Gerard gasps, and takes a moment to catch his breath after the last tyre is loaded up.

“We haven’t got much room left.” Sergio sighs.

“We’ve got enough. Some of the food can go in the back.”  
  


* * *

These are the most heart stopping moments, when they’re seconds away from breaking into a dark building, with who knows what lurking inside it. As wrong as it is, Sergio enjoys the adrenaline rush.

Their excursion has been incident free so far, and he feels oddly relaxed. He soon realises he should have known better.

Never assume you’re safe. First rule of the apocalypse.

“It’s locked.” Gerard turns to him as they stand against the door, giving a shrug.

“Stand back.”

“Sergio – don’t!”

Sergio has already aimed the brick at the glass, sending shards of it shattering in every direction. The noise it makes seems impossibly loud, and echoes in the forest around them. It resonates in Sergio’s head for several seconds after it’s stopped.

“Well, that’s just great.” Gerard huffs and pouts his lips, as though he’s incredibly put out by Sergio’s shenanigans.

“Stop worrying, we’re fine, we’re safe.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Seriously, Gerard. Nobody wanted to come here even before the zombie outbreak. Only you.”

Gerard casts a stern look in his direction.

As he pokes his hand through the hole the brick made, Sergio reaches and opens the door from the inside.

“There,” he says. “After you.”

They both switch their torches on, the air of the building is thick with dust, and impossibly dark. It’s hard to make out much at all. Broken glass crunches under their feet as they step further inside.

Sergio feasts his eyes on a shelf of canned goods a little way in the distance. Vegetables, meat, even some puddings… a few months ago he would have been repulsed by the idea of eating such things. Now, coming across them feels like a lottery win. His mouth begins to water. He begins to stash one can after the next into large shopping bags.

To his left, Gerard fills bags with cereal, tea, and coffee. His work is as quick and as smooth as a thief in the night. Sergio once again finds himself thinking Gerard missed his calling – he’d make an exceptional criminal.

At least above all else, this should please the rest of the group.

“They have canned mushrooms. Should I grab those?”

“Gerard… _no_.”

Even though they can’t see each other in the poorly lit room, they both collapse into fits of laughter.  
  


* * *

Sergio carries on moving between the narrow aisles, eyes peeled for anything the group might be able to make use of. He wants an easy life, and to be in everyone else’s good books. He turns a corner, and the smell of bad milk hits his nose. It is all he can do not to gag. Shelf after shelf of spoiled fresh food stands in front of him – and when his torch lands on the fridge... well, Sergio has never seen such amounts of mould. He swallows hard, pressing forward.

He finds a stand of books and CDs, and it makes his heart leap. Entertainment at last! At the back of his mind he knows he shouldn't take any items not essential to the group's survival, but he can't resist. Maybe there's a CD player and batteries around here somewhere. It's not likely, but stranger things have happened. Sergio is near delirious at the thought of having music in his life again.

So close, yet so far. As he heads nearer to the stand his torch cuts out, and he can’t see a thing.

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath.

He starts to rummage in his backpack – surely, he must have brought a spare torch. But he doesn’t have chance to find one, because he hears a noise coming from behind him. A distinct gurgling sound. Unhuman, unmistakable. Close to him, and getting closer.

How could he have been so complacent? Why didn’t Gerard and he make a backup plan?

He can smell the zombie’s putrid breath, like something beyond death,  and unimaginably horrid. Despite the fact he’s a brave person, his body starts to shake. The gun, he thinks, and he reaches into his pocket. But he fumbles, caught in the heat of the moment, and the gun ends up flying out of his hand, making a noise as it clatters and slides along the smooth, tiled floor.

Now he really starts to panic.

“Sergio?” Gerard calls out from across the way.

“I dropped the gun, I dropped the gun.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

It’s a half truth. Because Sergio knows Gerard is doing everything to get to him, but it’s all in vain. The creature is too close. He can't see it, but he can sense it. Where is it? How can he find it in pitch black? Worst of all, he knows it will have no problem finding him. A hand reaches and touches his shoulder. Sergio breathes a deep sigh of relief.

“Oh, Gerard.”

“Sergio, don't worry, I'm coming to you!” But Gerard’s voice is still in the distance.

Sergio freezes. The hand isn’t Gerard’s, it’s the zombie’s. He kicks it quickly in the chest, stunning it, sending it flying. Yet it is only deterred for a moment. It growls, delirious with bloodlust and hunger, and marches towards him with even more purpose. He hits it and kicks it again and again. It's no good. It seems to have superhuman strength. Whatever the zombie virus is, it's bloody clever.

He's mere inches away from its mouth, and he can’t hold it off forever.

This is it, Sergio thinks. No more cabin. No more mushrooms. No more Gerard. And certainly, no chance of living to see another Christmas.

 _I should have just drunk that fucking bottle of wine_.

The shrill pierce of gunfire cuts through the air and nearly makes him jump out of his skin. Gerard isn't the greatest at shooting. After all, he's not had much practice at it. When Sergio was trying to teach the others how to do it, Gerard made a song and dance about it being against his morals. Typical Piqué.

His shot is just enough to knock the creature to the ground, as the bullet hits it in the leg.

“Did I get it?”

And suddenly, he hears Gerard’s footsteps running towards him, sees the torch flash wildly in all directions.

“I got him in the leg!” Gerard declares.

The zombie still hasn't given up. It crawls, gasping, desperately trying to claw its way towards Sergio. He starts throwing object after object off the shelves towards it. In the end, he just brings an entire shelving unit down and smashes it on top of the creature.

It makes a spectacular mess, splattering everywhere. Sergio is sprayed in blood and guts, covered from head to toe.

Gerard finally gets to him, reaches out to hug him, and instantly recoils.

“Dude, I'm so happy you're alive, but that… is disgusting.”

Sergio isn’t sure why he’s laughing. But he lies on the floor, entrails all around him, unable to stop himself.

It has to be better than crying.

“Sergio, are you alright?”

“Why are they so soft and sticky? Like they’re all hollow and made of nothing inside.”

“What?”

“I suppose it's because they're decomposing,” Sergio carries on, in near hysterics.

“Sergio, I love you. But stop it.” Gerard makes a gagging sound. Sergio is quite sure he’s going to be sick.  
  
  
* * * 

They both trounce towards the truck on tired, weary, legs.

“Sergio, take your clothes off, and leave them here,” Gerard says, holding his nose.

“I'm too cold.” He shivers.

“It’s okay, I left a spare jacket in the truck.”

“You’re my hero.” Sergio has never wanted a change of clothing more.

“I know.” Gerard smirks. “Look, I’ll load the rest of the stuff into the back, you get the jacket. Sit down, take a minute to yourself.”

Sergio's expression softens. Gerard and him, they're in this together. They always will be.

He opens the rear door of the pickup truck. He sees a big, padded black jacket. It's perfect. He throws off his bloodied shirt, and winces as he uses the back of it to scrape the rest of the splattered zombie guts off his body. The apocalypse is disgusting, he thinks to himself. He reaches for the jacket. It clearly belongs to Gerard, he smells him all over it. He puts it on, zips it up and revels in its warmth.

Then he sees it – an FC Barcelona badge. Gerard has given him a fucking FC Barcelona jacket. Sergio takes it off, and instantly throws it to the ground.

Old habits die hard, and he is mortally offended.

“You jerk.”

“What?” Gerard’s eyes widen as he gets into the truck.

“Were you laughing at my expense?” Sergio points at the article of clothing. “I don’t care how cold I am, I am not, nor will I ever wear a Barcelona jacket!”

“Sergio, you're being stupid.”

“I'm insulted you even offered it to me.”

“Sergio, you’re shivering, you just had a near-death experience for fuck’s sake …”

“I don't care.”

“You're being a moron.”

“Takes one to know one.”  
  
“I was _trying_ to help you. I didn’t even think about what was on the jacket.”

“Just drive. Take me home. I don’t want to talk to you.”

They sit in silence for the entire journey, Sergio buck naked in the passenger seat, despite the fact he’s shaking with cold.

That night, he makes it easy for Gerard – he can sneak off anywhere he likes. Because Sergio sleeps on the couch.


	3. Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to those who've read and enjoyed this story! I'm now working on the last few chapters of the main work, which I hope to be able to post soon. It's been over a year since I started this universe now, and saying goodbye to it is going to be bittersweet. Thanks again and I hope everyone has an amazing holiday season <3

The couch provides him with a fitful night's sleep; if barely a night’s sleep at all. Sergio wakes several times: once after a bad dream, twice shivering, but not from the cold. He still sees the shadow of the zombie as it lurks in the darkness, ready to pounce on him. It's there every time he shuts his eyes.

If only Gerard was here, to soothe him, to take the pain away.

When he wakes for the final time, someone has laid a blanket over him. A pile of clean clothes has been placed on the table beside him, jeans, a chequered shirt… and _that_ jacket. He gets up to examine it, and winces as his back creaks – it’s going to be a long time before his body gets over lying on a cheap wooden couch all night. He sighs, holding the offending article of clothing in his hands. His face breaks out into a smile. The FC Barcelona badge on the chest has been carefully cut away. The one on the sleeve, too.

He supposes now he can wear it after all.  
  
Sergio laughs hysterically again at the irony of it all. He’s been laughing a lot lately, but never because of anything funny.

None of the others so much as bat an eyelid when they walk past him on their way to the kitchen. It’s as though they expect him to be on the couch. Perhaps they’re just too used to Gerard and Sergio's drama by now. Sergio isn’t sure he'll never get used to it himself.

In the kitchen, he's met with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He salivates. There is cereal, jam, peanut butter, or hot beans if anyone would prefer. This morning they will eat like kings, without having to worry about rationing a single thing. At least all the trouble he went to yesterday served a purpose.

Gerard’s startling blue eyes practically stare a hole into him. “Did you sleep well?” He asks.

Several faces look up at them from around the table.

“Wonderfully.”

A blatant lie.  
  
* * *

It is exactly as he suspected. Nobody acknowledges the fact today is Christmas Eve. It's just another day at the cabin. Another day of trying to survive.

Grey skies greet him as he walks outside. A small fire burns, with a pan of water placed over it. Trying to wash every day is a battle to be won. It literally takes from dawn till dusk to heat enough water for all six men. Perhaps he just won’t _bother_ with it today.

“Sergio, would you mind getting us some more wood?”

He casts a scowl in Gerard’s direction – there are chores to be done, and it always seems to be him doing them.

“I’d do it myself, but Gareth and I are going to change the tyre on the bus.”

_Of course they are_.

Hoisting the axe over his shoulder, he reluctantly trudges into the forest. At least he can be at one with nature here. The fresh smell of the forest fills his nose, and he surrounds himself by trees so tall they look as though they touch the sky. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the beauty of it. He’s just always looking over his shoulder, never sure he’s truly alone.

Sergio throws himself into his task, relishing in the dull repetitiveness of it all. He enjoys the rhythmic sound of the chop, chop, chopping. How predictable it is, how simple. When he finally has a generous pile of logs in front of him, he drips with sweat and is breathless with exertion. It is an uncomfortable realisation; he is nowhere near as fit as he was when he was a full-time footballer. He is equal amounts of horrified and miserable over it.

It is almost a relief when Neymar comes down to help him carry the logs. Yet it tests Sergio’s patience when his eyes constantly dart from side to side, a terrified expression etched on his face, as though he believes they will be attacked at any given opportunity. He is still scared of everything, and it isn’t going to get him anywhere.

They lug the logs back to the cabin. Sergio tosses a couple of them onto the dying embers of the fire for good measure, and it roars back to life again.

“Gerard said he wanted to see you,” Neymar says, whilst warming himself against the fire.

“Did he now?”

“Yeah, he said he’d be in his bedroom.”

Sergio's eyes widen.

“Don't the two of you have any self-control whatsoever? No respect for the rest of us?” Neymar clenches his fists. “Your drama is too much to handle.”

“Hombre, we weren’t even talking to each other a few hours ago.”  
  
”That’s exactly what I mean.”

Sergio walks away, shaking his head.

A single candle light burns in the bedroom, and Gerard sits on the bed, hunched up, knees drawn to his chest. When their eyes meet the look on his face is serious. Sergio’s heart sinks. He's going to break up with him, he’s sure of it. The strain of the last few days has taken its toll on them both.

Maybe they’ve both reached breaking point.

“Are you still mad with me?” Gerard asks.

“Over the jacket? No.”

But there are other things. Things Sergio doesn’t know how to talk about.

A silence ensues.

“What else are you mad at me for?”

Sergio stares at him, deadpan. “How can you not know? 

“I…”

“Where have you been these past few nights? Every time I've woken up, you've been gone.” Once he starts to talk, he can’t stop. “What are you keeping from me? What’s with all the secrecy?”

“I’m having an affair with someone in the forest.”

“Excuse me?” Sergio’s blood boils.

“Come on, Sergio!” Gerard holds his hands up in the air. “Be realistic. What do you think I’ve been doing?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“What date is it today?”

“You said…” Sergio blinks several times. “You said you’d stopped counting the days.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Sergio stares at him, open-mouthed.

“I had a great plan. In fact, it worked out wonderfully until yesterday.”

“Gerard, what are you talking about?”

He produces a small package, wrapped in brown paper.

“This is for you.”

The gift is heavier in his hands than he was expecting.

“Merry Christmas, Sergio.” Gerard presses a small kiss to his cheek.

Sergio has never been speechless for so long.

“Well, open it then.”

Sergio gently peels away the brown paper, revealing a crudely made carved wooden horse head. He recognises the wood as being from the trees in the forest, it even _smells_ of the forest.

He doesn’t think anybody’s ever done anything so sweet for him before.

“You hate it, don't you?” Gerard's face drops.

Sergio smiles as he traces the outside of the animal’s face with his hands. He doesn't know how Gerard did this. He must have put so much work into it. “Are you kidding? I love it.”

He drapes an arm around Gerard’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck. “I absolutely love it.”

“Thank God for that, it was a nightmare to make. It took me hours. Days.”

“Your fingers.” Sergio remembers. So _that’s_ why he was using the medical kit yesterday morning.

“Yeah, hitting yourself with a hammer and chisel isn’t a clever idea.”

“Is that where you were during the night? No wonder you hurt yourself, you were probably delirious with lack of sleep.”

“I’ve been working on it for weeks, but it wasn’t going to get finished in time… I had to sneak out. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“It’s fine – I think it’s amazing, I think _you’re_ amazing.”

“It was amazing until I found this.” Gerard presses another package into his hands.

Sergio unwraps it to find a Walkman and some CDs. Plus, plenty of batteries. “Is there flamenco?” Sergio sifts through the CD titles.

“Do bears shit in the woods?”  
  
“Not in these woods, I hope.”

They both laugh.

“I know how much you've missed music.”

“Oh, Gerard.” Sergio leans against him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Then, he remembers. “I got you something too, but it’s lame.”

He reaches under the bed, and grabs the bottle of wine. Gerard’s eyes light up. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad gift after all.

They drink, they laugh, they get drunk enough to forget about what’s going on in the rest of the world, at least temporarily.

It is not the worst Christmas Sergio’s ever had.


End file.
